


Dreamer

by dracoqueen22



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 18:38:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/916652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last place Megatron expected to see his former partner was in a Decepticon prison with an Autobrand on his chestplate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreamer

**Author's Note:**

> Written for tf-rare-pairing's weekly request challenge of Megatron/Sideswipe, when you were mine

The last place Megatron ever expected to see his former partner was in a Decepticon prison with an Autobot symbol planted on his chestplate. Gone was the familiar red sheen, replaced by a gleaming silver, shades brighter than Megatron's own. He'd traded in matching blasters for in-built blades. His optics were now blue, like so many of Optimus' formerly civilian troops.   
  
If not for the familiarity of his energy field, Megatron would have never recognized him. But he knew Sideswipe's field as well as he knew Optimus', perhaps better, and there was no mistaking it.   
  
“Leave us,” Megatron growled, dismissing the guards with a flick of his optics.   
  
His soldiers traded glances, but left as they were told. The gossip would spread, no doubt but no one would dare question Megatron openly. Well, no one aside from Starscream.   
  
The cameras, then, would be their only witness. Megatron trusted Soundwave to be discreet. Loyalty such as Soundwave's could never be manipulated or bought, and was valuable for its rarity.  
  
“Should I be honored?” Sideswipe asked as the door clanked shut, leaving them alone. He uncoiled himself from the floor with lazy grace, rising to his pedes.   
  
Even in the dim light of the cell, Megatron could see the energon slicking Sideswipe's frame, nearly obscuring the silver paint. One optic flickered an off-beat rhythm. His left arm hung limp at his side, unresponsive.   
  
He'd still killed four Decepticons before they'd managed to subdue him. It was a performance that his owner would have applauded. He would have made thousands of credits off the display, had anyone been betting.   
  
They were, neither of them, in the ring anymore, but somehow, their fighting styles never could completely abandon the showmanship associated with it.   
  
“The mighty leader of the Decepticons has come to interrogate me himself,” Sideswipe continued with a broad gesture of his sole working hand, his smile a cracked and broken thing.   
  
His energy field rolled out, washing over Megatron in a nasty churn, thick with rapid-fire emotions too quick to pinpoint. Megatron coiled his own tighter to himself, if only to keep from interacting with that unpleasant stickiness.   
  
Sideswipe's tone had been carefully calculated to infuriate. Megatron refused to be baited, ignoring the ache in his spark at seeing his former partner. He couldn't avoid the relief. It had been vorns since he'd last seen Sideswipe. He had almost convinced himself that his partner was dead.   
  
“You, of all mechs, became an Autobot,” Megatron said instead, staring pointedly at the symbol of his brother's treachery, so blatant and fresh on Sideswipe's chestplate. “Why?”   
  
Sideswipe cocked his helm, approaching the bars of his cell, close enough that the energy crackled with warning. “If I have to explain it, you'll never understand.”   
  
Very little had changed. Sideswipe could be irritatingly obscure when he wanted. Especially if he thought it gave him an edge in a negotiation.   
  
Megatron ground his denta. “I was under the impression you'd gone with the Neutrals.”   
  
“You thought I was that sort of coward?” A hint of offense colored his tone.   
  
Megatron lifted a hand, searching his database for the clip he knew had to be there. Was it longing or sentiment that had him archiving the video? Megatron didn't know and now wasn't the time to pick apart his motivations.   
  
A holographic display sprung to life in his palm, poor quality and grainy because he had only the basic hardware to support it, but the image didn't need to be perfect. It was enough to show an image, vorns old, of Sideswipe amongst a horde of Neutrals, waiting to board a shuttle off-planet.   
  
Sideswipe's expression flattened with distaste. “You were watching me?”   
  
“Looking for you,” Megatron corrected and closed his fist, letting the image vanish.   
  
“Oh, lover. I didn't know you cared,” Sideswipe purred, though it lacked affection. His optics darkened, tinting with shades of red.   
  
Ah, lenses. Should Megatron be proud? Sideswipe hadn't entirely surrendered his origins to submit to the Prime. Instead, he'd buried his Allspark-given hues beneath a layer of subterfuge.   
  
“Couldn't recharge without a berth-buddy, was that it?” Sideswipe's vocals dropped in register, touching upon deep tones that seemed to vibrate through the entirety of the brig. “Did you miss me?”   
  
Megatron's hands drew into fists of their own accord, if only to keep the growling irritation at bay. “You left.”   
  
Sideswipe's gaze wandered away, but Megatron was no fool. His former partner was paying the utmost attention. “Didn't have much of a choice.”   
  
“Don't give me that slag.” Megatron's engine gave a rumble of discontent, and he grimaced, struggling to throttle it back.   
  
Slag it all, but Sideswipe had always been capable of getting under his plating, even with only a few words and a sly smile. It was part of the reason he'd been drawn to the warrior in the first place.   
  
“And what use does the Lord High Protector have for a second tier gladiator?” Sideswipe challenged with a bitter laugh.   
  
“You didn't stay long enough to find out.”   
  
“So now it's my fault?”   
  
Megatron didn't dignify that with a response. The blame certainly wasn't his own. He hadn't been the one to disappear one orn without so much as a parting comm or letter. He hadn't ignored all attempts at contact, or vanished into the Pit.   
  
Sideswipe huffed, looking away, a twitch visible in his armor as it fluffed up and then smoothed down, clamping tight to his substructure. “Of course it is,” he muttered.   
  
The uncomfortable silence stretched between them, where Megatron had no idea what he wanted to say, only knowing he had to say something. This was the opportunity he had been seeking for vorns and now that he had it, he balked.   
  
“Why did you come down here?” Sideswipe finally asked.   
  
Megatron's mouth flattened, and he resisted to urge to retreat a pace. The clench of his spark was another matter. “That you would ask speaks more of your contempt for me, now and then,” he retorted.   
  
Something like guilt and pain flickered across Sideswipe's face, and for a moment, Megatron thought he glimpsed regret. Or maybe that was only because he wanted to see it.   
  
“I'm not going to join the Decepticons.”   
  
Megatron ex-vented audibly. “I assumed that much.” His fingers twitched before drawing back into a fist. Memories battered at his core, threatening to cycle themselves up for his viewing pleasure, no matter the despair they'd bring with them.   
  
“Are you going to kill me then?” Sideswipe sneered. “Or do I get the honor of torture first?”  
  
Once upon a time, Sideswipe had trusted him. That, apparently, was as dead as their relationship. He had known, from the moment he onlined alone, but seeing it like this, seeing Sideswipe with an Autobrand and rolling disdain, was like a knife to the spark.   
  
Megatron unclenched his fingers, cycling a ventilation. “Prime has offered terms for an exchange. We are prepared to accept them.”   
  
Sideswipe barked a laugh, some of the tension easing out of his frame. “And you're going to accept?” He stared directly at Megatron with those eerie Autobot blue optics, one still flickering intermittently. “Some might accuse you of being soft-sparked.”  
  
“I care little for the opinions of others.”   
  
“You never did.” Sideswipe's helm dipped, gaze softening enough that he no longer appeared eager to throw himself against the bars, blade aiming for Megatron's spark. “I won't apologize. I can't.”   
  
He understood. And yet, Megatron also didn't. Maybe he never would.   
  
It was, as much as anything else, a conclusion to this discussion. There was nothing more to be said, no amends to make, and whatever might have been left between them, was rust on the wind.   
  
“I'll send a medic,” Megatron said, turning to leave. “Consider it a gesture of good faith.”   
  
“Megatron.”   
  
He paused, glancing over his shoulder. He said nothing, but his delay was indication of his intent to listen. If Sideswipe had something more to say, then Megatron was prepared to hear it.   
  
The warrior rocked on his pedes, expression a flurry of restraint. “I meant what I said,” Sideswipe finally murmured. “Then and now. That hasn't changed.”   
  
It would have been better, Megatron thought, if he had kept walking. If Sideswipe had intended to invoke the greatest emotional strike, he had succeeded.   
  
“As did I,” Megatron said and he picked up the pace, determined to leave before he admitted something he would regret. “Don't get yourself killed, Sideswipe.”   
  
“You first.”   
  
The door closed shut behind him. Megatron offlined his optics, stilling his frame. He needed calm and composure. He needed to look like the leader of the Decepticons, not a love-struck mechlet with a broken spark.   
  
The past was the past. There was no reviving it, reclaiming it, or reliving it. There was only the future and moving toward it, claiming victory for his troops, destroying his treacherous brother, and returning Cybertron to its former glory. There was no room for Sideswipe, for the affection Megatron still carried.   
  
It, like everything else, would have to be buried.   
  
Megatron had a war to win. That was what mattered now. He onlined his optics, pushing himself off the wall, striding far and fast from the cell block.   
  
He had work to do.   
  


***


End file.
